Christopher Fowler - The Mammoth Book of Best New Horror. Volume 10

The old footpath, bare as a strip of skin amid the turf, led past the first bunker, and she made herself glance in. It was unmarked, unstained. “We’re going to get him,” she whispered to the virgin sand, and strode along the path to the main road.

A phone box stood next to the golf course, presenting its single opaque side to a bus stop. Claire pulled the reluctant door shut after her and took out her handkerchief, which she wadded over the mouthpiece of the receiver. Having typed the digits that would prevent her call from being traced, she rang the police. As soon as a female voice, more efficient than welcoming, announced itself she said “I want to talk about the Laura Maynard case.”

“Hold on, madam, I’ll put you through to — ”

“No, you listen.” Now that she was past the most difficult utterance — describing Laura as a case — Claire was in control. “I know who did it. I saw him.”

“Madam, if I can ask you just to — ”

“Write this down, or if you can’t do that, remember it. It’s his name and address.” Claire gave the information twice and immediately cut off the call, which brought her plan of action to so definite an end that she almost forgot to pocket her handkerchief before hanging the phone up. She stepped out beneath a sky which seemed enlarged and brightened, and had only to walk to the stop to be in time for an approaching bus. As she grasped the metal pole and swung herself onto the platform of the bus she was reminded how it felt to step onto a fairground ride. “All the way,” she said, and rode to the office.

“Claire? I’m back.”

“I was wondering where on earth you’d got to. Come and sit and have a drink. I’ve something I’ve been wanting to — ”

“I’m with someone, so — ”

“Who?”

“No need to sound like that. Someone you know. Detective Inspector Bairns.”

“Come in too, Inspector, if you don’t mind me leaving off your first bit. I don’t suppose you’ll have a drink.”

“I won’t, thanks, Mrs Maynard, not in the course of the job. Thank you for asking.”

She wasn’t sure she had — she was too aware of the policeman he’d made of himself. His tread was light for such a stocky fellow; the features huddled between his high forehead and potato chin were slow to betray any expression, never including a smile in her limited experience, but his eyes were constantly searching. “Do have one yourselves,” he said.

“I’ll get them, Claire. I can see you’re ready for a refill.”

“You’ll have the Inspector thinking I’ve turned to the bottle.”

“Nobody would blame you, Mrs Maynard, or at any rate I wouldn’t.” Bairns lowered himself into the twin of her massive leather armchair and glanced at Wilf. “Nothing soft either, thanks,” he responded before settling his attention on Claire.

She smiled and raised her eyebrows and leaned forward, none of which brought her an answer. “So you’ll have some news for me,” she risked saying.

“Unfortunately, Mrs Maynard, I have to — ”

Wilf came between them to hand Claire her drink on his way to the couch, and in that moment she wished she could see the policeman’s eyes. “Sorry,” she said for Wilf as he moved on, and had a sudden piercing sense that she might be expected to apologise for herself. “You were saying, please, go on.”

“Only that regrettably we still have nothing definite.”

“You haven’t. Nothing at all.”

“I do understand how these things seem, believe me. If we can’t make an immediate arrest then as far as the victim’s family is concerned the investigation may as well be taking forever.”

“When you say not immediate you mean. ”

“I appreciate it’s been the best part of four months.”

“No, what I’m getting at, you mean you’ve an idea of who it is and you’re working on having a reason to show for arresting him.”

“I wish I could tell you that.”

“Tell me the reason. Us, not just me, obviously, but that’s what you mean about telling.”

“Sadly not, Mrs Maynard. I meant that so far, and I do stress it’s only so far, we’ve had no useful leads. But you have my word we don’t give up on a case like this.”

“No leads at all.” Claire fed herself a gulp of gin, and shivered as the ice-cubes knocked a chill into her teeth. “I can’t believe you’ve had none.”

“We and our colleagues elsewhere questioned everyone with a recorded history of even remotely similar behaviour, I do assure you.” The policeman looked at his hands piled on his stomach, then met her eyes again, his face having absorbed any hint of expression. “I may as well mention we received an anonymous tip last week.”

“You did.” Claire almost raised her glass again, but wasn’t sure what the action might seem to imply. “I suppose you need time to get ready to follow something like that up.”

“It’s been dealt with, Mrs Maynard.”

“Oh.” There was no question that she needed a drink before saying “Good. And. ”

“We’re sure it was a vindictive call. The informant was a woman who must bear some kind of grudge against the chap. Felt rebuffed by him in some way, most likely. She didn’t offer anything in the way of evidence, just his name and address.”

“So that’s enough of an excuse not to bother with anything she said.”

“I understand your anger, but please don’t let it make you feel we would be less than thorough. Of course we interviewed him, and the person who provided his alibi, and we’ve no reason to doubt either.”

Claire had — Mrs Gummer had admitted to having been asleep — but how could she introduce that point or discover the story the old woman was telling now? “So if there’s no news,” she said to release some of her anger before her words got out of control, “why are you here?”

“I was wondering if either of you might have remembered anything further to tell me. Anything at all, no matter how minor it may seem. Sometimes that’s all that’s needed to start us filling in the picture.”

“I’ve told you all I can. Don’t you think I’d have told you more if I could?”

“Mr Maynard?”

“I’d have to say the same as my wife.”

“I’ll leave you then if you’ll excuse me. Perhaps it might be worth your discussing what I asked when I’m gone. I hope, Mrs Maynard. ” Bairns was out of his chair and had one foot in the hall before he said “I hope at least you can accept we’re doing everything the law allows.”

She did, and her rage focused itself again, letting her accompany him to the gate and send him on his way. The closing of his car door sounded like a single decisive blow of a weapon, and was followed by the reddening of the rear lights. The car was shrinking along the road when she saw Duncan Gummer at the junction — saw him wave to Bairns as if he was giving him a comradely sign. The next moment his patrolling took him out of view, but she could still see him, as close and clear in her mind as her rage.

“Who is this? Hello?”

“It’s Claire Maynard.”

“It wasn’t you that kept ringing off when my mother answered, was it?”

“Why would I have done that, Mr Gummer?”

“No reason at all, of course. My apologies. It’s got us both a little, well, not her any longer, she’s sound asleep. What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to discuss an idea I had which I think might be profitable.”

“I don’t normally talk business outside business hours, but with you I’m happy to make an exception. Would you like to meet now?”

“Why don’t you come here and keep me company. We can talk over a couple of drinks.”